


Jacko Chant versus

by Supertights



Category: The Changeover - Margaret Mahy
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Homecoming, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person, Some Humor, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supertights/pseuds/Supertights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacko Chant returns home to find the landscape has changed since the earthquakes. It's more dangerous than it ever was, especially for someone like him.</p><div class="center">
  <p><i>'Tis now the very witching time of night,</i><br/><i>When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out</i><br/><i>Contagion to this world</i> ~ William Shakespeare</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Jacko Chant versus

It began with a dare, a very specific dare from a very specific individual, before drinks in a bar in a city that barely stands any more.

Jacko Chant, who had been Jacko once before, then Jack for a decade before returning to Jacko when he was working in the mines near Perth, was home, enjoying a quiet drink with one Sorensen Carlisle, Sorry to his friends, the number of which were limited to the fingers on one hand. Sorry had picked the pub, the interior of which was fuzzy and grey with glittering green accents that appeared too recent to be a coincidence. A live band had been playing folk-rock when they came in but had packed up and gone a couple of hours ago. Without the music to mute it, the chatter of drunken human beings was suddenly loud and obnoxious.

"God I hate St. Paddy's," moaned Jacko into the bar. "So fucking green and perky. Why did I agree to this, I just got off the bloody plane.”

"You never could resist a dare." The crowd had thinned out in the last half hour, midnight had come and gone. "How was Oz?" asked Sorry politely, before they got started. He fiddled with a coaster, spinning it around in a lazy circle that got faster until the writing was a blur, it continued to spin furiously long after he stopped playing with it.

"Hot. Dry. Deadly. Lonely," replied Jacko, scratching his chin, he needed a shave, wanted a shower, would kill for a good night's sleep in a soft bed. "The land is fucked basically. Fires, floods, that's just you see on the surface. Gaia is defending herself from the plague called humanity with everything she can throw at them, from every form of life known to kill you to the storms and raging bushfires. She hates the infestation of human beings, or at least, that's what my last girlfriend told me. Gin was a phonomancer from Manchester, lasted in Perth all of about six months. She couldn't sleep, it got to her in the end, the sadness, the dying." He closed his eyes and could almost smell the jasmine that surrounded her in a cloud as she leaned in to kiss him, warm breath, hot mouth, the taste of crisp apples and green tea. He opened his eyes again to find Sorry watching him. Jacko coughed and looked away, blushing, edging the tears out with his sleeve as casually as he could.

"Phonomancer?" asked Sorry, he'd glanced over, vague interest registering in his eyes. He didn't inquire after the girlfriend.

"New word but not exactly a new thing, Sorry. Witches who use music to cast spells, but it's very big in the Motherland." Jacko grinned. "Underground clubs, raves, places that pop up and feed the magical masses then disappear just as quickly. I kind of want to go over and see it but Gin said that there are just as many predators there as anywhere, and they were more cunning, harder to see. She said it would be dangerous for me." He turned inward again for a few minutes, rubbing his hand unconsciously, sighing. "I had to come home afterwards, to the centre of all things. Missed you and Lolly. Didn't realise how bad it was here though."

Sorry nodded his understanding. He too had suffered times of loneliness alleviated by times with family, to which he had retreated back to loneliness in desperation. "She hates that name." Sorry snorted. "How long are back for this time?"

"That's like asking when I'm leaving, I just bloody got here, Sorry." Shaking his head, Jacko said, "Not sure. Didn't you promise me lots of drinks?"

"No, that was Chant," said Sorry, calling the bartender over.

"What'll it be?" she asked in a fake sounding Irish lilt that was probably not fake.

"Beer," said Sorry, giving her a long look. "Guinness."

Everything shuddered minutely and they all stared at each other, waiting to see if it was going to get worse, thankfully it didn't. They let out a collective breath and laughed it off.

"Are we supposed to share?" joked Jacko, stabbing Sorry with his elbow. He'd built some muscle over the five years he'd lived and worked the mines, so he could put a little pain behind it and was rewarded by a grunt from his friend. "We'll have a couple of Guinness, Guinnesses, wait-- Sorry, how do you pluralise Guinness?"

Sorry gave him a wary look. "I--"

"Beers and shots to follow."

"No shots," said Sorry, quickly.

"No shots then?" she asked, her eyes locked on Jacko.

He felt the back of his neck heat up under the scrutiny and his hand zinged unpleasantly. He ignored it, scratching furiously. "Yes, shots!" Jacko felt Sorry's eyes on him, burning a hole through his head like lasers. "Can we open a tab?" Sorry's sudden intake of breath pegged him for a lightweight or a skinflint but Jacko was prepared to be surprised in either case.

The woman narrowed her eyes at them both for a second then smiled toothily. "If you leave your credit card details, sure you can have a tab." She left two bottles on the bar and turned away to serve another customer.

"You heard her, Sorry, credit card details."

Sorry drank his one Guinness, grimaced, and called for a bottle of Speights, nursing it, fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on bottle. He ignored the shots. After an hour and a half, he stood up and finished the beer. "No more beersies for you. Let's go, little brother," he said, slapping Jacko on the back.

"What?" Jacko looked up in surprise, but he finished his beer, chased it with Sorry's untouched shot, and followed his brother-in-law's retreating back out the door, stumbling onto the street.

"We didn't come here to drink," said Sorry, grinning an apology. He slung a long arm around Jacko's shoulders guiding him back to the car parked across the street.

"Then why did we come here if we weren't going to be drinking because I'm bloody confused.".

"Business." Sorry rubbed a finger down one side of his nose.

"I'm back for less than six hours and you've got me out on family business?" Jacko swore for several long minutes, slamming the car door. His jacket got caught in it and he slammed the door again, then once more for the sheer irritation. "Are you going to enlighten me any further?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Sorry was focused on the door to the bar and the alley beside it, relaxed and settling in for what might a long wait. "The one thing I've learned is that disaster attracts all types. Chant and I have noticed that the number of odd occurrences since the earthquakes is on the rise. The land is moving constantly, twitching and unsettled. Like a cat with fleas." When Sorry spoke for longer than a single string of short words, he was saying something worth listening to. Jacko eased back into his seat and opened his ears.

"They're not always human, not always easy to spot on first glance. They fit even when they don't. Hiding in plain sight is what they have become very skilled at and they used to only hide in places where dark folk linger. The bars. The gangs. Even the police force. They're almost always predators of very young, old, or weak, but now we're seeing them prey on the strong, the ones who can fight back. It's like they have something to prove by killing other killers. Chant and I agree that they're an overreaction on the part of the universe, sent in to gobble us up or motivate us all to move off this land."

"Oh," said Jacko. "So I wasn't imagining that bartender then." The tattoos had been the first clue, when her hand had come too close to his, her entire wrist to shoulder sleeve of tattoos had shivered for lack of a better word. Not just anyone would have noticed static eyes on skin turn to get a better look at you, the sound of scales that didn't exist rasp against each other while you pretended it wasn't happening. The second had been the woman's eyes, old and hungry. He'd seen eyes like that before. There had been a third clue but Jacko only told Sorry about the first two.

"Ireland is an ancient country full of very old monsters. I needed to get a read on her, see what she'd be like around you. You're kind of a touchstone, if you like." Sorry gave him an apologetic smile. "Chant agrees with me on this. We noticed during your changeover."

Jacko scowled and crossed his arms defensively. "You could've asked. It's taking advantage not to ask, Sorry."

Sorry looked at him, expressionlessly. Then sighed. "I'm still bad at this being a real human thing sometimes, sorry, Jack. If I'd known it would cause you pain, I'd not have done it."

"Yes you would," stated Jacko. "You can't help yourself."

"That's true, I can't help myself." Sorry nodded slowly, laughing softly under his breath. "What were we saying about monsters?"

Across the street, the bartender pushed through the doors, pulling a jacket over her shoulders and zipping it up tightly. The black leather clove to her body like a second skin. She walked down the alleyway next to the bar and a moment later, a single headlight heralded her exit riding an old green Kawasaki. Sorry started the car engine and waited a beat, then pulled out into traffic in pursuit.

Jacko stared out the window, watched familiar and unfamiliar landmarks flash past. He sighed and gasped intermittently, sometimes simply in surprise, other times pain.

"Worse than Australia?" asked Sorry.

"Not much is worse than Aussie." Jacko felt strangely disloyal saying it out loud, he owed nothing to the land of rust and dirt. Here was an abundance and purity of life if you believed the advertising slogans. Jacko believed in unicorns but not in a pure New Zealand. "It just finds me, you know, the magic? The monsters? It's like I have a tattoo on my forehead that says, open for snacking!" Sorry didn't reply but gave him a quick grin.

"You should talk to your sister about that." The traffic thinned and Sorry allowed a gap to open between the motorcycle and the car. "She's heading to Lyttelton," he said, a frown beetling his brow.

"Is there something you need to be telling me, Sorry?"

Sorry didn't reply immediately. "Lyttelton is an old site, practically ancient in places. Pools of elemental magic, too dangerous to try and clean up. It will eat you up, skin and bones, heart and soul. Sometimes it'll spit something out but most of the time, people just disappear."

"Well, bugger," said Jacko, under his breath. "Are you intending to battle the dragon in a place of old magic? I'd advise against it. They get a bit pissed about men waving swords around, trying to stab them." They were only slightly less pissy about women doing it.

"D-dragon?" Sorry hissed, slowing the car to a crawl. The motorcycle pulled away and disappeared over the crown of the hills. "What makes you think she's a d-dragon?"

"Um, because it's obvious she's a dragon?"

Fingers tapping against the steering wheel, Sorry eased his foot back onto the accelerator and the car jerked unwillingly into forward motion. "F-f-fucking d-dragon," swore Sorry, growling under his breath. "I did not see that coming."

Jacko grinned. "Saint George eat your heart out."

 

* * *

 

The bartender pulled off, parking the bike on the lawn outside an old bungalow that had been split unconventionally into two flats. They drove past with the headlights off. The lawn was mown, the garden was tidy, the house looked friendly. Yellow light pooled out and the curtains closed with a glimpse of hair that shone like polished copper.

Sorry was in denial. "Succubus maybe," he said, muttering to himself, "Or, or a banshee."

"There are plenty more spooky ookies than that roaming the world, Sorry. She's a dragon." He looked back at the bungalow where the grass was now knee high, whipping around although there wasn't a breeze, and the paint was coming off the old building in long diseased strips revealing rotting boards beneath. The garden had become a dead forest, jagged white branches stabbed bony fingers through the night at him. He shook his head. "Gah!" he cried, hunching down in his seat. A skittering, screeching, thing, that couldn't possibly exist, dragged fingernails across the passenger window next to him. "Drive! Go faster."

"What?" Sorry turned his head to glance at him as they circled back towards the tunnel. "What was that?"

"Nothing, just jumpy," said Jacko, closing his eyes, he gasped for air, a cold sweat on his top lip and brow. A monster grinned from behind Jacko’s eyelids, laughing at his vulnerability. Raising the hem of his shirt, Jacko wiped his face dry, his hands shaking a little. He was regretting his cavalier attitude earlier. When he felt it was safer, he cranked down the window and rested his head so that fresh night air washed over him, stroking lines of worry from his face the more distance they put between Lyttelton and the car. "I think we should regroup." He rubbed his hand where an invisible scar remained in the shape of Carmody Brack. "No. We _need_ to regroup. Get Lolly, talk to Winter."

With a grunt, Sorry said, "Winter died after the second quake, in her sleep. The roof came down on her."

"Sorry, I--I didn't know."

"She had a bit of a soft spot for you, always asking how you were getting on in Canada, then Australia." Sorry sounded a little envious. "So does Miryam. They both liked it when you visited. They found Chant a little stiff but you were a delight apparently."

Jacko didn't reply, the lump in his throat, swelling with emotion that he didn't think he had left in him, prevented it. “I haven’t felt like that for a while, Sorry,” he said eventually. “Not for a long time."

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from the use of the source material (The Changeover, Margaret Mahy).
> 
> Disclaimer 2: I do not have a beta reader on tap so this is not beta read. I have made a serious effort to beta read it myself so any mistakes are mine alone. (Please comment if there is anything glaringly terrible though, so I can fix it.)
> 
> References:
> 
> Summary quote: Hamlet ~ William Shakespeare  
> Phonomancers - Phonogram, Image Comics, author Kieron Gillen.  
> No more beersies - Alcohol awareness campaign, [Say Yeah Nah](http://www.alcohol.org.nz/resources-research/campaigns/say-yeah-nah/) and [Say Yeah Nah video](https://youtu.be/srE57FURiZU/).
> 
> You might be looking at the date of this, April 2014, wow, long time between. I wrote it last year, posted it, had an anxiety attack, deleted it, looked at it again this month, dusted it off and gave it good editing, posted it again. Why delete it the first time? Anxiety is my enemy. No hits, no kudos, no comments. I simply lost confidence in myself. 
> 
> Readers of The Changeover have a lot of personal canons and this one is mine. Comments are very welcome, feedback, kudos - I need something to keep me writing, anything, it's the juice that feeds my writers soul.


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